Wuthering Heights
by Brambleshadow of WindClan
Summary: "Out on the wiley, windy moors we'd roll and fall in green. You had a temper like my jealousy, too hot, too greedy. How could you leave me when I needed to possess you? I hated you, loved you too."


**So, basically a post-Doomsday fix-it based off "Wuthering Heights" by Kate Bush. If you want to listen to the song, I highly recommend Pat Benatar's version. Hopefully, this one isn't total rubbish. Unlike "Sleep Alone", which I'm pretty sure is, but I'm posting it anyway. This could also take place in Series Four, if you want to interpret it that way. I'm not sure myself, to be honest.**

* * *

"**Wuthering Heights"**

Rose Tyler tossed and turned in her bed, unable to fall asleep. Moonlight spilled through the window and bathed her in its cool silver glow.

How long had it been since she was trapped in the parallel universe? Months? Years? And all because of _him_.

_His _face flashed in her mind, and she slammed her eyes shut. Fat lot of good it did, because now the memories wouldn't stop.

Rose remembered lying in apple grass on his trench coat, the Doctor stretched out beside her. In her mind she had rolled over, straddling him, and then sent the two of them rolling through the green grass, enjoying the feel of his body against hers. The scene melted and shifted, then condensed to the two of them inside the hospital. Rose was trapped in a corner of her mind, unable to do anything as Cassandra launched _her _body at the Doctor, snogging him, raking her hands through his hair, rolling her hips. Rose could see it, feel it, but it was as if from far away or in a dream. The Bad Wolf hadn't felt like this, and afterward Rose vowed that New Earth was the last time she would be possessed.

While traveling with the Doctor she'd seen so many sides of his personality. During his fight with the Sycorax leader, she'd seen a darker, more volatile side of him. _"No second chances. I'm that sort of a man." _He was quick to anger in this body, his temper and strong sense of justice raging like fire when he felt he had been violated. When he'd left her and Mickey on that spaceship to go chasing after some French mistress, jealousy had flared so strongly in Rose she thought it would consume her. Both of them were too hot, too greedy when it came to each other and their emotions.

More memories came unbidden, ending with Torchwood One. _How _could he have done that to her when she'd told him over and over again that she was never going to leave him? She'd made it back, of course . . . but she'd ended up being trapped in Pete's World anyway.

In that moment, she both hated and loved him.

He'd burned up a sun just to say goodbye . . .

Lately she'd been having nightmares whenever she'd fallen asleep, all of them involving the Doctor. She could see him, and she'd call out his name, but he never heard or saw her. And each time he looked so lonely, so broken and desperate, that it broke her own heart to see him like this.

The Beast's warning played in her mind again, and Rose dug her nails into the bedsheets. But in a way, she had lost the fight to stay with the Doctor—and she had died in battle, or so everyone back in her home universe thought.

"It's not fair!" she cried suddenly, bringing her knees up to her chest. She'd had to leave the Doctor behind—_her_ Doctor—and his wonderful TARDIS, which was more a home to her than any Powell Estate—no matter what universe it was in.

Somehow, she was going to find a way back to him. She didn't care what the cost was at this point.

-oOo-

The Doctor, alone in the TARDIS, was busy tinkering with the wiring and other pieces of machinery. He'd put on music to help him think—"Stairway to Heaven" by Led Zeppelin. His ship had a surprisingly large music collection, and with his luck the next album would be Pink Floyd's _Dark Side of the Moon_ or Def Leppard's _Pyromania_.

_"Doctor!"_

His head jerked up, hit the metal edge of the panel, and he bit back a curse. He knew that voice, that oh-so-familiar voice . . . but this shouldn't be possible.

He scrabbled around the console until he was looking at the monitor. There was Rose, on-screen, in her room on the parallel universe. She was sitting up, covers resting on her knees, and he could see the white tank top she wore as a nightshirt. His hearts clenched at the look on her face: pain, desperation, fury—at him, he was sure—yet love was there, too.

"Rose?" he breathed, hardly daring to believe it. He blinked, reached out a hand to touch the monitor . . . but the image of Rose was gone.

_No! No, no, no, no, no! _He raked his hands through his already-messy hair, brown eyes wide. This couldn't be real, had to be a dream . . . or maybe he was going insane.

-oOo-

Back in Pete's World, Rose was trapped in memories of both her Doctors and all the adventures they'd shared. She had no idea how she'd survived as long as she had without the Doctor there. Yes, she had her family, but it wasn't the same. It was so _lonely _without him here.

Yes, there was also her work with the parallel Torchwood, but really, she was just using them to find a way back across the Void.

Even if it killed her.

-oOo-

Months later, the Dimension Cannon was finally ready. After a series of unsuccessful jumps, she finally found herself in her home universe. . . . and the Doctor was a few hundred meters away.

Without even thinking, she called out his name and began running. The Doctor turned, and his eyes lit up. A smile spread across his face, and then he, too, was sprinting toward her, long trench coat billowing out from behind him.

They met in the middle; and he swept her up in a hug, spun her around, burying his face in the crook of her neck. "Rose," he whispered, warm breath caressing her smooth, pink skin. Reluctantly, he set her back down on the ground, but she only tightened her hold on him.

"Told you I'd stay with you forever," she murmured, looking up at him and biting her lip. A hint of pink tongue peeked out through her white teeth.

"Rose, how—?"

"Dimension Cannon. Parallel Torchwood. Doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm back, Doctor. I've come home."

Suddenly the aftereffects of using the Cannon caught up with her and Rose began shivering. The Doctor loosened her grip on his waist, leaned back, and looked down at her with concern in his fudge-colored eyes. "Rose? What is it?"

"Cold. So cold."

"Come on." Instantly his expression was all business—determination, concern, and worry all at once. "Let's get you inside the TARDIS. I can look you over there." Before Rose could protest or say she would be fine in a few minutes, the Doctor had picked her up and was carrying her to his timeship. She should have been mad about that, but in reality, she was sort of enjoying it.

Stupid hormones. Stupid irresistible alien. _Why _did this incarnation have to be so attractive?

It took her several long moments to realize that he was taking her to her room, not sick bay.

"Doctor, what—?"

"You're cold, so we need to warm you up," he said in a reasonable tone of voice. Several possibilities of how that could happen flashed through Rose's mind, each more erotic than the next, and she said, "I think you can put me down now."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah. Just aftereffects. I'll be fine in a bit."

He tilted his head, as if he was considering it. "Nah. 'Sides, we're already here." The door to her room opened and the Doctor set Rose down. As she walked over to the bed, she noticed that nothing had been changed since she'd been trapped in Pete's World. She flopped down on the duvet-covered mattress and faced the Doctor, who was eyeing her intently with that piercing brown gaze.

"What?" she asked, suddenly self-conscious.

He sat on the edge of the bed, looking away as if unable to hold her gaze. "For a while," he said finally, "after you were . . ." His voice trailed off, and he swallowed hard. "Anyway, I thought I was going mad. I kept seeing you on telly, hearing your voice no matter where I was. It even happened here in the TARDIS. How were you doing it?"

Rose shrugged. "I dunno. Bad Wolf, maybe? I never knew anything about this until you told me." But there _were _her dreams . . .

The Doctor tilted his head, focused his hearing on her heartbeat. It was steady, so she was telling the truth. As for her suggestion, it made some sort of sense. "Yes, maybe it is the Bad Wolf," he muttered.

He realized seconds later that Rose had leaned forward and was loosening his tie. "Rose, what—?"

"Still cold, Doctor. You want to warm me up?" There was a glint of something in her whiskey-colored eyes that the Doctor couldn't place. She leaned in, mouth close to his ear, and whispered seductively, "Then make love to me."

Her hands had already loosened his tie and were busy unbuttoning his suit jacket and shoving it off his shoulders when his brain caught up and started panicking.

"Rose," he protested, knowing it was weak and wouldn't do any good, not now. "We can't . . ."

His feeble protests trailed off as her hands removed his jacket and shirt, her teeth tugging gently on his earlobe. _She must have picked up a few tricks._

"I've missed you," Rose murmured, running her hands across his pectorals, over his shoulders, and around his neck. "So much." Her lips found his, gentle yet demanding. He jerked back, realized his hands were on her waist, and he found he didn't know what to do. "Please, Doctor. Let me have you."

He never had been able to refuse her, even back when he was northern and blue eyes and leather jackets. His hands had a mind of their own by now, since they were feverishly undressing the top half of her body. Skin brushed skin as Rose pulled him down with her onto the bed, and somehow in the moments that followed there were no further barriers.

The Doctor drank in every detail, every single sensation, and tried committing them to memory. He was still half afraid that this was another hallucination; but Rassilon, if it was, he didn't want it to ever end. Even as he gave himself to her, licked and nipped and stroked her burning flesh, he couldn't quite believe this was real.

Rose's nails raking down his back, her pleased moans, her naked body writhing underneath his soon convinced him that, _yes, _this was reality.

Her name fell from his lips over and over, like a mantra, as he mapped out her body with teeth and tongue and clever hands. Rose spread her legs, arched against him in a silent demand.

He should stop now, he really should, but he eased inside her anyway, a rasping mewl in the back of his throat. _Oh, _she was so tight and hot and wet and felt _so good . . . _Then he began to move—Rose moved with him—and time dissolved. It wasn't long before they were no longer dancing. They were flying, and he flew with her over the edge.

Afterwards, when Rose was asleep, the Doctor indulged himself by curling around her and trailing his fingers through her long blonde hair. Through the whole time he'd had Martha as his companion, the thought of Rose and somehow returning to her had been the one thing that had kept him going. Now she was here with him, when it shouldn't be possible. If forced to admit it, he would have said he'd been prepared to sell his soul to have her back. He would do anything for her.

The Doctor just hoped he wouldn't wake up and find it was all a dream. Surely the universe wouldn't be that cruel to him.

Then again . . .

He leaned in close, just behind her ear, and whispered the sentence he'd never finished on Bad Wolf Bay:

"Rose Tyler, I love you."

Although he couldn't see it, her lips curved in a small smile.

Oh, yes, she was definitely home now.

Forever.

The author would like to thank you for your continued support. Your review has been posted.


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